


Sticks and Stones (may break my ankle and it really hurts, Geralt)

by sapphistication



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Injured Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, he has a sprained ankle and is very dramatic about it but also not, listen my boys are soft and tough, the title makes it sound cracky but it isn't. i just suck at titles, very very light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphistication/pseuds/sapphistication
Summary: And he was in a great amount of pain. Huge, really. Nobody else had ever endured this kind of pain in as well-placed a silence as Jaskier, he was sure. That was a reason to be proud of himself, he figured. Now, if they could only make it to Kaer Morhen in good time, if he could only endure it for the last of the half-day’s journey, then he could curl up on soft furs with Geralt sooner and have him look at his ankle.-- Geralt and Jaskier are on their way to Kaer Morhen to spend the winter with the other Wolves. That would all be nice and good if it weren't for Jaskier's damned ankle that hurts like hell. He just hopes Geralt doesn't notice. Spoiler: he does. Of course he does.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 300





	Sticks and Stones (may break my ankle and it really hurts, Geralt)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [djarinscyare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/djarinscyare/gifts).



> Oh man, oh man. Here we are. I never did see myself writing Witcher fanfic, but here we fucking are.  
> This one is for you, Mags <3 I know it's not really what you (or I, let's be real) had in mind, but maybe I'll just write a thousand more "Jaskier has a sprained ankle"-fics until we are both satisfied :D
> 
> (not beta-read, I have the same attention span as Jaskier in this)

All Jaskier could focus on was the immense pain making its way through his right leg from where he had sprained his ankle. Or maybe it was broken. Judging from the pain with every step he took, he couldn’t even be sure if his foot was still there or if it hadn’t decided to give up on him and his attempts to not put more pressure on it than necessary. In fact, he was trying not to show it. Couldn’t have Geralt think him weak. Weaker than he already was next to the heroic White Wolf.

The same White Wolf that was sitting comfortably astride his loyal steed before him, unaware of Jaskier’s suppressed wince with every other step. Sure, he turned around every few minutes to check on Jaskier, probably unnerved by the bard’s silence. But he couldn’t very well pretend he was not under a great amount of pain and at the same time fill the silence with idle chatter or singing. Granted, he did that a lot usually – pretend he was okay, not hurt ot irritated or phased in the slightest, and instead rambled on and on about something that caught his mind.

But hiding physical pain was easier done silently.

And he was in a great amount of pain. Huge, really. Nobody else had ever endured this kind of pain in as well-placed a silence as Jaskier, he was sure. That was a reason to be proud of himself, he figured. Now, if they could only make it to Kaer Morhen in good time, if he could only endure it for the last of the half-day’s journey, then he could curl up on soft furs with Geralt sooner and have him look at his ankle.

He would just pretend he’d slipped and lost his footing on the many stairs in the old keep. Yes, that would be believable. That would make him clumsy, not weak. It would still make him a nuisance among witchers, but at least not much more so than he was anyway.

Jaskier sighed. His thoughts were running away from him as they usually did when he couldn’t voice them. He spiralled into his own insecurities and wasn’t even able to distract himself from it.

Exhausted and frustrated and restless and _in fucking pain,_ he lost his footing for a second. He slipped on what must have been a small ice patch and had to catch himself on his sprained-or-much-worse ankle. The involuntary whimper that escaped him was not nearly enough to give voice to the excruciating pain, but conversely – unfortunately – loud enough to alarm Geralt.

Really, it was a mircale that Geralt only noticed now that Jaskier was walking differently, that his heart was racing faster than usually, pumping blood through his veins with his increasing excertion. He knew his steps were off because he wasn’t putting his normal weight on his right foot. Normally, Geralt would have noticed right away. Today, though, he was distracted.

Jaskier would be worried normally, but there was honeslty only one thing on his mind – and that was not letting the tears roll down his cheeks where they were gathering in the corners of his eyes. Breathing. Yeah, okay, breathing was a good idea. He could even pretend that it made him feel better.

“Jaskier?” Geralt stopped Roach and turned around to him, alarm turning to an worried frown upon seeing Jaskier’s clenched face. The witcher turned in this saddle and scanned the surroundings for any imminent danger, but there was none to be found. He moved his eyes back to Jaskier, glowing eyes roaming down his body in a way that normally made him shiver in anticipation. But not now. 

Now, he only plastered a way too bright smile onto his face and hoped that his voice wouldn’t betray his predicament as he opened his mouth. “Just slipped, dear,” he said, but his cursed throat was still closed up, making the words sound strained and pressed and pitiful. He sighed, but was still hoping that Geralt hadn’t picked up on it yet. The man could be so incredibly oblivious at times, and today it could actually play into Jaskier’s cards for once.

To round up a miserable day, it turned out that luck would not be on his side today even when it came to Geralt.

The man unmounted in a swift motion and stepped towards Jaskier, that worried frown still sitting between his brows.

“You’re hurt.”

“I am fine, Geralt, I merely slipped on a patch of ice because this rotten winter has decided to come early and make this godforsaken path up to your lovely old keep even harder than it already is. But we knew that I am clumsy, and I am fine. Really. Nothing of concern. Can we keep moving? It’s only half a day’s journey, if I am correct, and I would really like something of the stew Lambert is no doubt making for dinner.” He was rambling, but what else was new?

Geralt just watched him, that look of worry making way to one of fond exasperation as he let Jaskier get it out of his system. Gods, but how he loved this man.

“You're fine. Take a few steps, then,” the White Wolf challenged him, something glinting in his eyes that told Jaskier he saw right through him.

He took it back. That man was nothing but infuriating, a scamp, a child in a man’s body, a cheeky little—

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at Geralt and then raised his chin defiantly before taking a step with determination. What he hadn’t considered was that he had been keeping all his weight on his healthy, lovely, strong, perfect left foot. By consequence, that meant taking the first step with his right foot. Needless to say, he was caught between powering through it, flailing helplessly, and crying out from the pain.

He did a very dignified mix of the three. The slip had only worsened the condition of his ankle and he really got to feel it now. Damn him and his inability to say no to a challenge.

A traitorous tear had finally made its way free from his eye and was rolling down his cheek. Before he could wipe it away, though, Geralt was by his side, ducking beneath Jaskier’s right arm and supporting him, holding him close.

“Jask,” he chided. “You are hurt.” There was pain in Geralt’s voice, almost even disappointment. Before Jaskier could shrink away from the disappoinment and the shame that would inevitably follow, Geralt opened his mouth again. “Let’s sit down, I want to take a look at it.”

Jaskier shook his head, unwilling to seem weak in Geralt’s eyes. “That’s not necessary, dearest, I am very well capable of walking by myself all the way to Kaer Morhen.”

“Just let me look at it, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, and nudged him softly, steering him to a patch of soft grass just off the stony path. 

“Fine,” Jaskier muttered, hobbling to wherever Geralt wanted him with as much dignity as he could muster up. Never would he admit how good it was to finally be able to take his own weight off the ankle.

Geralt lowered him onto the grass and rested Jaskier’s leg in his lap so he could inspect the ankle with a barely audible explanation that it is better to rest it elevated. Jaskier could not help but smile at it. They have been together for a long time, and Geralt was still making excuses for touching him.

While Geralt was checking Jaskier’s ankle, pushing and pulling it this way and that, listening to Jaskier’s breath and gasps, Jaskier was content just to watch him. A voice in his head yelled at him that they should be moving, that they shouldn’t delay their arrival at Geralt’s home because of his weakness. But another part of him loved the extra attention he was getting in the form of soft, gentle, and careful touches.

“Hm. Your ankle is definitely sprained,” Geralt grumbled, slowly pulling the leg of Jaskier’s trousers back down to cover it again. “There might even be a hairline fracture, but I can’t be sure.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt looked conflicted. “I should have noticed sooner. You shouldn’t have walked all that way with an ankle like that. I’m…”

“Hey now,” Jaskier reached out his hand and waited for Geralt to take it, just to hold hands. He’s found that it’s easier for Geralt to talk if they were touching, a notion of comfort and warmth. A gentle constant for as long as Jaskier could provide it. “What’s on your mind? You okay?”

Geralt nodded. “I’m okay. Just worried, I guess.”

“About Ciri and Yen?” Jaskier knew that Geralt missed them and hadn’t heard from them since spring. Ciri went to train with Yennefer this year while Geralt followed the Path again with Jaskier. Not seeing his daughter and his friend for more than half a year was wearing on Geralt, he knew. Still, he knew better than to presume.

“Hm,” Geralt nodded. And then that was that. He knew they were going to talk about in due time if Geralt ever felt like it.

“They’re going to be fine,” he said anyway, his tone gentle. “You would know otherwise.” He squeezed the witcher’s hand and got a smile in return before he lifted Jaskier’s hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to his palm.

After a short silence, Geralt spoke up again. “Forgive me for not noticing your pain.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes fondly. “I didn’t want you to.” He chuckled. “I can be pretty convincing and determined if I want to, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Geralt grinned, that glint back in his eye, and the bard could feel his cheeks heat up – and it certainly wasn’t because of the chilly air of the late autumn day. The witcher sighed and it was his turn to squeeze Jaskier’s hand. “But you shouldn’t have to be. Why didn’t you say something?”

With a sigh, he looked down and was suddenly very fascinated with the grass. The way it could just survive summer and winter alike, the way it was like a parasite of nature with it’s shallow but immense root system? Grass. People should talk about grass more. More than about insecurities and weaknesses and the way they didn’t want the love of their life think them weak or a nuisance that is holding them back. No, see, grass was much more interesting.

“Jask,” Geralt called softly.

The bard shrugged. “It’s stupid, a sprained ankle. I didn’t want you to think I’m… weak or something. Because I’m not, and you know it. I’ll sing you to death if you say otherwise, Geralt, I dare you—”

“You’re not weak, Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted him. “And it’s not stupid. It’s painful. And I should have noticed.” He comfortingly ran his hands along the leg currently resting in his lap. A touch much appreciated.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

At that, the witcher smiled, and pressed another kiss to Jaskier’s palm.

“Come now, let’s patch you up and then continue our journey to Kaer Morhen for that very alluring stew you mentioned earlier.”

Jaskier laughed and watched as Geralt pulled out the bandage and wound it around his ankle, stabilising the joint with two sturdy sticks he found on the grass next to them. The bard was content to let Geralt do as he pleased, but where he had expected that they would just continue their journey on foot, he had been very, very wrong.

Because as Geralt stood, he told Jaskier to “Stay here.”

Confused, he just watched how Geralt walked to Roach and brought her closer to where he was still sitting on the grass. Then, with a gentle tug and a murmured command, Roach lowered herself to the ground in front of Jaskier.

He could only look at Geralt, confusion and shock clear in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, of course you’re gonna ride the rest of the way. I’m not letting you walk more than is strictly necessary.” Geralt crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearly leaving no room for discussion or even protest.

In all the years, Jaskier had never been allowed to ride Roach.

He should be forgiven his shock and disbelief.

Not quite sure how to properly distribute his weight as he was getting up, Jaskier reached out for Geralt to help him. And because he really liked to touch him.

Roach, being the ever-patient companion, waited for him to sit comfortably in the saddle before she made to stand upright again. Geralt’s hands were on him all the time, making sure he didn’t fall out of the saddle. It was endearing, but wholly unnecessary.

“I know how to spend hours in a saddle, Geralt. I’m fine, honestly. I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, I have ridden a damn horse before.” Roach huffed at that, and Jaskier patted her neck. “Of course, my wonderful friend, you’re not a damned horse. You’re not just any horse, either. It is a privilege to be riding you, thank you for having me… on… your back. Yeah.”

Next to him, Geralt snorted. “Keep your foot in the stirrup, oh grand Viscount de Lettenhove, to keep it from moving around too much.”

Yeah, okay, that was actually a good idea. He took the reins and wanted to ask Geralt if they were ready to go, but his breath was caught in his throat when he saw the look on the witcher’s eyes. The fondness there. Amusement. Kindness. Love, even.

Jaskier honestly didn’t know what to do with it, so he filled the air with idle chatter about whatever came to his mind now that the pain in his ankle was only a dull, pulsing pressure without his whole weight on it.

Before he could go on and on about the marvels of grass, Geralt stopped roach.

“Wh—Did…we forget something?” Jaskier asked, turning in his saddle to look behind him, but there was nothing. He turned back around to Geralt, confused as to why they stopped.

“Forgot something,” Geralt rumbled quietly, but before Jaskier could go into further inquiry, he was gently pulled down by the lapels of his doublet. And then Geralt pressed a kiss to his lips, gentle but firm.

Jaskier hummed into it, a smile blooming on his face and in his heart.

Much to Geralt’s feigned dismay, that kiss gave Jaskier even more encouragement to leave not a single second’s worth of silence between them. Laments, marvels, ramblings, everything that had been on his mind for the past hours which he hadn’t been able to give voice to, was finally put into words now.

And Geralt smiled for the rest of the journey, even though he would never show Jaskier. Luckily, the witcher smiled in more ways than his lips, Jaskier knew. That’s why he kept talking. That’s why they worked so well.

And it’s how they arrived at Kaer Morhen. A chattering bard, a smiling witcher, and a huffing horse, too old for any of this.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this! It's my first ever Witcher fanfic and I'm not sure I nailed it - but then, at least I don't have a sprained ankle. Anyway, please let me know if you liked it! <3
> 
> Hope you're safe and well and know you're loved!


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